


The Shoes

by Attasee



Series: Suits and Umberella’s [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clothes Porn, M/M, POV First Person, Shoes, sallygetshermoment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 05:21:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20700608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attasee/pseuds/Attasee
Summary: Step right up Sally Donovan, this is your moment to shine





	The Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> This will either work or it won’t...

Greg Lestrade has been my SIO for six years now.

I joined him as a newly promoted detective after transferring from Greater Manchester Police where I’d been a member in the Armed Response Team and before that, a patrol officer in the city centre. I loved it in Manchester - it was my home city so of course I did - but there was something about patrolling town’s streets while trying to keep people safe that I really loved. After a couple of years though, I fancied a change so when I’d completed everything I needed do get the Detective rank in the serious crimes division at GMP, I aced my probationary period, applied for a role in the Met and the rest you can say is history.

London of course is very different to Manchester, it’s obviously bigger, busier, more expensive, but it’s also the people, they’re different too. I wouldn’t say ruder or less friendly but yeah, it isn’t Manchester. Its why Greg Lestrade surprised me so much. He wasn’t like the others. According to the Detective’s in my new division he was an East End Boy who had worked his way up through the ranks. From what I could see he cared about victims and had time for people. He had time for me anyway, so when the DS job came up and he asked me to go for it, I was proper chuffed he had had the confidence and belief in me that I could be his number two.

Now you all are probably wondering why I’m telling all of this, waffling on about my time in Manchester and my transfer to London but I do have a reason - honest. All of the aforementioned – Manchester, London, etc. means I’m very good at what I do. I’m a good detective, I’m thorough, probably a bit pedantic and by the book for some people but I know that when the time comes for me to step up to DI I’d be bloody good at it. The boss knows it too, which is why I was bloody flabbergasted he thought he could hide the fact he was shagging that dickheads brother for so long.

It started with the shoes. Innocent things are shoes but they can tell a lot about a person, people have been put away for life because of their shoes but in the the case of DI Lestrade it wasn’t that easy.

We’d just closed a case involving a dead body, a candlestick and a DJ booth when Lestrade walked into the office the next day wearing a new pair of shoes. They where different to his others, and as I told Phil, my boyfriend later on that evening as he was brushing his teeth, my SIO didn’t do new shoes.  
“What do you mean he doesn’t do new shoes. Fucking hell Sal, a man is entitled to a new pair of shoes especially if his old ones where knackered,” he replied in-between the teeth cleaning and using the toilet.  
“These aren’t just new shoes though,” I had shouted back from the bedroom. Because they weren’t, these ones where black leather, shiny and honestly? I can tell a good quality pair of shoes a mile off.  
“They aren’t?”  
“Babe, these are gift shoes..”  
“What the fuck are gift shoes?”  
“Gift shoes, you know? Those shoes someone else buys you when you first get together and the more flush one of the couple decides to buy the other shoes to show them how much they like them.”  
“Jesus Christ.”  
“You did it with me. Bought me shoes, remember the Kurt Geiger’s, leopard print…”  
“Yeah, I bought you them because they made you swoon, you told me they where an investment, plus I loved-”  
“-exactly.”  
“Bloody hell.”  
“See..!”  
“Greg’s got a shoe bitch.”  
Damn right he had.

The next day Lestrade had the shoes on again and this time I managed to get a proper look at em. I reckoned that if I could get close enough I’d figure out the designer, so later that day when he was sat with his feet up eating a custard cream and drinking a mug of tea I innocently wandered into his office with some paperwork for him to look over.  
“What’s that?”  
“Overtime,” I lied zooming in on my targets. “I’ll deal with it but I just thought I’d let you know first.”  
“Anything else?”  
I shook my head – I had what I wanted. “Enjoy your biscuit Sir.”  
Shoe bitch indeed… those bad boys? They where a pair of Church’s leather Oxford’s. Cost? £400 minimum.

The shoes where just the start. After that I noticed other little things creeping in. One day it was a very nice blue three piece with silver tie and pocket scarf – “I’m going out after work.” The next, it was a gorgeous white double cuff shirt - obviously high end and a beautiful wine red tie. My boss was on a good wage but bloody hell, it’s didn’t stretch to that.

The problem was at the time I couldn’t connect these things. It was obvious he was seeing someone new but as the months passed he never mentioned anything, no names nothing. I mean Christ, everyone knew me and Phil where together after three weeks but then we did get caught snogging in the morgue but that’s beside the point, Lestrade was never going to snog anyone in the morgue. Not even Molly Hooper however much she fancied him.

No he just quiet about it. He even had a holiday. An actual holiday. One involving a plane, sun and duty free. He returned after two weeks looking as relaxed as I’d ever seen him and a smile on his face.  
“Good time?” I’d asked him after morning briefing. It took him a while to reply – like he wanted to tell me something – but then obviously decided against it and instead simply nodded.

It wasn’t until a bout four weeks later, when we were at the crime scene of a particularly grisly death linked to what we thought may be serial killer that he slipped up andthings fell into place. For some reason the Boss had been a distracted with his phone that night and spent the bulk of the evening staring at it in the hope it would ring.  
“You Okay?” I asked and rather than answer me he’d simply nodded. The white CSI suits did make it hard to chat but that wasn’t the point. “Because you don’t look okay. You look like you’re gonna throw up at any moment and that’s not like you, your stomach is as strong as an ox’s.”  
“Am okay Sal. It’s just-.”  
“You’re not, I can tell but when you’re ready to tell me but you know where I am.”  
Of course he never answered, but later on when we’d climbed out our suits and left SOCO to it, I asked him again.  
“Boss… you know you can talk to me right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“So you know whatever it is that’s had you distracted all night you can tell me about. We’re partners it’s what we do.”  
“I know. It’s just-.”  
“Well whoever it is,” I interrupted. “I hope they know they’ll be dealing with me if they upset you.”  
It took a moment for him to answer. “Thanks Sal.”  
It was at that point a black car slid in right next to us, it’s back door opening without assistance.  
“Is this you?” I asked staring at the open door. The DI nodded like he did, then sighed heavily.  
“Yeah.”  
“Nice car.”  
“Their job….”  
“Right – proper flashy that.”  
“It’s… it’s not what you think Sal..he’s...”  
I think I did well to hide my surprise (my brain was working overtime now). “Didn’t think ‘ought Boss. Just look after yourself. Don’t let him boss you about though - unless you like that sort of thing....”  
“Sal....”  
“Tell him though, if he’s handing out shoes I like Geiger’s.”

A couple of hours later I was sat in bed listening to Phil argue with whoever was on Question Time still rolling the whole scene with the DI over and over in my head.  
“A black car picked him up,” I said as Phil paused for air.  
“Who?”  
“The Boss.. tonight a black car. He nearly slipped up and told me who it was.”  
“What sort of black car?”  
“Eh?”  
“The black car, what sort? Jaguar, Audi, BM?”  
“Jag I think why?”  
“Nothing…”  
“No tell me.”  
“Well… Sherlock’s brother, the posh one, he gets driven around in a black Jag. Fancy bastard he is too. Works for the government.”  
“Sherlock’s brother?”  
“Yeah, maybe it’s him buying the shoes.”  
_No way._ “Lestrade‘s shagging that dick’s brother?”  
“It’s the only logical answer…” my boyfriend could be a smug bastard when he wanted but I had to admit the theory had potential.  
“Bloody hell.”  
“Hmmm.”

The next day I’d gone in all smiles and normal pleased to find the DI in his office looking all kinds of happy.  
“You better today?” I asked sliding a mug of coffee under his nose.  
“Yeah, thanks… sorry Sal…I take it you guessed who…”  
I waved him off quickly – it was either that or punch the air in celebration. “Nah, it’s okay. Just hope he isn’t like his brother.”  
He took a moment to answer. “He’s different. It’s good… settled. Best thing that’s happened to me for a while. To us both to be honest.”  
I watched him smile happily.“Except last night though…”  
“Last night was a miscommunication. We are good now.”  
Part of me wanted to hug his bones. “Good, I’m pleased for you, and anyway… I much prefer him to his brother, he’s got better taste in shoes for a start.”


End file.
